Curatio
by ivyandtwine
Summary: 'She cannot believe her freaking arm is broken.' Set very early season 3.
1. Chapter 1

She hurts.

Her right arm is broken, encased in a full plaster cast up past her elbow, and her left wrist is sprained, strapped down tight. She aches all over, there's a deep cut on her forehead and bruises cover her torso, her hips, her legs. Her ribs are especially sore, the heavy plaster cast resting against them is not helping, even her breathing causes shooting pains down her sides.

She cannot believe her freaking arm is _broken_.

Earlier today she had been chasing a suspect - he had run out of his apartment and therefore so did she. What she hadn't counted on was Castle coming from the opposite direction – having delayed his entry due to a conversation with Alexis – and startling the suspect right before a long flight of stairs. The suspect decided that the best thing to do was to push Kate down the stairs. And she fell. Hard.

She had apparently passed out, hitting her head on the way down, but the next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital, her body in pain and Castle's finger wrapped around hers – he didn't want to hurt her by holding her hand. Remorse was plastered on his face and he had began to apologize to her.

She had assured him it was not his fault, her heart hurt at his guilt, tried to assuage it as best as she could. She knows it didn't work though, knows he'll carry it around, because if the situation was reversed, she would feel the same.

She had forced him to go home, had given up arguing with him and promised him she was fine. She's more annoyed about the time out of action the injuries are going to cause.

Plus, she's still angry at him, because of the summer, because of _Gina_, and she knows she probably shouldn't be, but it stings still, her heart compressing every time his girlfriend's name is mentioned. She tried to get over him, had a date with a good looking doctor, but it didn't go any further than that. She couldn't stop the comparison, couldn't stop her stupid mind from wondering what Castle would have been like on a date.

So she accepted him back, and is now wondering if that was a good idea - the way he was looking at her, touching her, in the hospital was making her head swim, her heart melt. She had tried so hard to suppress her feelings, why were they coming back now?

She's brought out of her thoughts when she hears a loud knock on her door and groans. She knows it's him because who else would it be?

Lanie had come home with her, said that she would look after Kate for tonight – she has a concussion and was not supposed to be alone. But then Lanie had got called into work. Kate had told her she was going to be fine, but now she is pretty sure that Lanie has something to do with the mystery writer banging at her door.

"Hang on," she calls, knows she will be slow to rise, her bones and muscles protesting as she stands up.

She walks over to the door, her throbbing head clouding her vision, oh, she does _not_ feel good. Reaching out, she quickly unlocks it, doesn't even open the door for him, and shuffles back as quick as she can to the couch.

The creak of the door opening and closing signals his entry behind her, but she doesn't even acknowledge him until she's collapsed back down on the cushions. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, her hand resting tightly against her forehead, willing the pain to disappear. She feels the couch sink, and blinks her eyes open to a very worried looking Castle looming over her.

He holds a giant bouquet of flowers in his hands, pinks, yellows, and oranges bloom out and she's momentarily distracted from her pain as she studies the arrangement, her heart sparking at the gesture.

He places the flowers on the coffee table in front of her, and casts his gaze down over her, taking in each of her injuries, as if he is hoping they'd healed in the hours he hasn't seen her.

"Hey, you ok?" he asks, his voice light, but worry lines crowd his face. She wants to wipe them away with a brush of her hand.

She tries to smile as she looks up at him, but it turns out as more of a grimace. "I'm fine. Moving is... not the most pleasant."

"And you told Lanie you would be fine by yourself," he scolds.

"I would have been. She shouldn't have called you. You didn't need to come, Castle."

"Kate, you need someone here. You have a concussion. What if you pass out?"

She sees his hand twitch, as if he wants to touch her, comfort her, but he refrains. She almost wishes he wouldn't.

"I'll be fine, Castle," she stresses, but softens at the ever present guilt lingering on his face. "But thank you for the flowers."

"It's the least I could do, seeing as it was my fault that you're in this state," he mumbles.

_Castle, no._

She reaches out with her semi-decent hand and grazes his knee. Do they do this now? Comfort each other using their hands?

"Castle. I've already told you. It wasn't your fault. You're not the one who pushed me down the stairs."

"But-"

"Castle," she cuts off, digging her nails into his leg. She thinks the movement hurts her more than him. "No more okay?" she pleads.

He sighs. "Okay."

"If you want to be useful you can get me a glass of water and my pain meds."

He jumps up, his smile returning and his face smoothing from her request, and rushes to bring her meds to her.

She tries to sit up, but forgets that she can't put weight on her wrist until it feels like flames burning her bones; _man_, she cannot do anything with both arms immobile.

She'll be fine – or semi-fine – after her left wrist heals, but it still aches to move it, and clearly no pressure should be placed on it. Her cast on her right arm makes every movement heavy, requires extra effort to perform simple tasks, increasing the tension on her sore muscles. She breathes through the pain, directs her focus to Castle as he walks back over to her.

He sits on the couch next to her knees, his hip spreading heat through her as it brushes her leg. He hands her the pills and she puts them into her mouth, then reaches for the glass he's holding out and, oh... he's found her a straw. So she doesn't have to hold the glass. She smiles gratefully and leans forward to sip the water and swallow the tablets. She's closer to him now - he's leaned forward and so has she, close enough that she can study the details of his face, his eyes, his lips. It's too much, so she swallows as fast as she can and leans back down, using more force than necessary, to lay against the cushion.

Just that movement is enough to jostle her head, her arms. Her cast bumps against her ribs and her whole body pounds with pain. A cry escapes her lips before she can stop it and her eyes slam shut. Can it just stop already? She can feel Castle shift closer to her, and then she's greeted with the weight and warmth of his hand on her shoulder.

So this touching thing is definitely happening.

It feels good though, grounds her, gives her something to focus on other than the drummer having a party in her head.

"You ok?"

God, he sounds so concerned.

She hums, unwilling to open her eyes until her head calms down. "Fine. Just- hurts," she grits out, her teeth clenched.

She gasps when he lifts his hand and softly runs his fingers over her forehead, down her hair. Her heart pounds - matching her head, but without the pain - and she has to stop herself from releasing a moan as he repeats the motion over and over. She thinks he's murmuring something, she's not really paying attention, but she hears _sorry_ and _shh, _and she could cry from his sincerity. She would stop him – she _should_ stop him – but it feels so good, and she can feel the pain start to drift away as she relaxes into his touch. Her insides are at battle, surges of electricity contrast the soft swells of tranquility. Damn him and his hands, his comfort. She's supposed to be over him, _supposed_ to not be affected by him.

Look how well that turned out.

She decides to ignore the head-heart battle, and instead focuses on the graze of his fingers as they comb gently through her hair, her mind fogging as she drifts off to the motion of his hand.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading, and thanks to the girls who read over this for me. _

_This will be a three shot. _


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up to the delicious smell of Chinese food wafting through her apartment. She's still sore, but less than before, the effects of the pain meds – and Castle – still radiating through her body. She can still feel the ghost of his fingers through her hair, the delicate trace of them as they had put her to sleep.

She sits up slowly, trying to avoid moving her head too rapidly, and looks around to spot him in her kitchen preparing plates of takeout for each of them.

"Hey, you're awake," he says, once he's noticed her, and he smiles as she stands up gradually and walks over to the kitchen. It hurts - her body is stiff from the sleep - but she pushes through, her jaw clenched as she moves. "How's the pain?"

"It's... ok. Arm hurts the most right now, but it's better than before, the meds are working." She sits down on a stool and watches him work as he glides around her kitchen with ease. "The food smells good."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you were up for eating, but thought I'd order something just in case."

"I'll see if I can manage. I should be able to keep it down, just not sure about getting it in there in the first place." She motions to both her injured appendages with a dissatisfied look.

"Oh. Right." He pauses, she can see him thinking. "Well... I can-"

"Do _not_ think that you will be feeding me, Castle." She glares at him, eyes narrowing, and he looks back at her sheepishly.

"Fine. But don't come complaining to me when you are struggling to eat with your left hand."

She smiles triumphantly - now she _has_ to do this without his help.

* * *

They eat mostly in silence, Castle sitting close on her left, can feel him itching to help as she struggles through the meal. Her left hand proves much more dysfunctional than she anticipated and the addition of the throbbing in her wrist is not helping. She can barely twist it, has to keep it level and rather move her whole arm to lift the fork. Her stubbornness gets the better of her though, she will not ask for help at all. She manages to swallow down about a third of the meal, but her hunger dissipates quickly as the aches and discomfort start crawling back into her bones.

She places her plate on the coffee table with a sigh, and leans back into the couch. She hates being in pain, hates being incapacitated, being weak. She's always struggled with asking for help, relying on people.

_You rely on Castle._

Uncertainty swims in her stomach, because she _did_ rely on Castle; her was her partner. And then he left. But she took him back, because she _likes_ relying on him, likes having him as her back up. She clenches her teeth, frustrated with her own feelings, wanting Castle in her life but still having the back of her brain hitting her with doubt, with anger, towards him. Anger that probably isn't even completely justified, because she was with Demming, and he didn't know they had broken up. She can't help the hurt though, because they were so close, and the anticipation and excitement of the weekend in the Hamptons still creeps into her veins if she thinks too hard about it.

He's here though, and he doesn't have to be. He's here looking after her and caring for her, and that has to mean something?

"Whatcha thinking about so hard over there?" Castle says, and she flops her head to her left to look at him, realizes he's been watching her throughout her mental debate. Her face heats and she turns her whole body to his, knees curling up onto the cushions as she curls in on herself.

"Uh- nothing. Just, frustrated about the limitations on work I'll have for the next six weeks," she lies, pursing her lips.

"Ah, well don't worry, we can still catch killers in the precinct. We'll get all the evidence, figure out who the killer is, and then we'll make Ryan and Espo do all the grunt work," he jokes. He's trying to get a smile out of her and it works, her eyes creasing as her lips turn up.

"You'll still come into work with me even though I can't do much of the exciting stuff?" she asks, almost cringing from how desperate she sounds.

"Of course, Detective, you're still my muse after all." He smiles, but his eyes are serious and sure.

She rolls her eyes at the term, but laughs softly, her heart lifting as his words and his face suppress her worries. He's not leaving her.

Her lips are still curved as she watches him finish his meal, studying his face, his movements like he so often does to her. He keeps flicking his eyes to the side, watching her watch him, and she should probably look away but she can't. It's intense, the eye contact, and she bites her lip, blaming the pain meds for how _obvious_ she is being right now.

She wants to say something, thank you, or _please never leave me again_, but no way does she have the courage for that, so she settles for this, hoping that her eyes do the talking.

He finishes his dinner, places his plate next to hers, his is far more empty in comparison, and shifts to face her, mimicking her position. His shin brushes her feet, and she points her toes to graze his leg, the small contact making her heart feel huge, so she leaves her feet there, savors in the odd warmth she's drawing from the connection. His eyes get serious, and he places his hand on her ankle, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her bone. It's not supposed to be a romantic gesture, supposed to soothe, to comfort. And it does. But even the simplest touch makes her body feel like it's vibrating, like his hand is conducting electricity surging it through her. It's ridiculous, really, how affected she is, she needs to stop it before she combusts.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"Um, my gauze, it uh- needs changing." She gestures to her head wound. "I would do it myself but uh-"

"Say no more, Beckett, I'll be happy to do it. That's what I'm here for." He stands up, and she follows suit. She's slow to rise, like usual, unable to use her arms, her ribs and hip bones still ache with every movement. She sees the hurt in his eyes as he watches; his arms twitch, as if to help her, but he stops, and she's grateful for him letting her do this on her own.

Once she's moving, Kate gestures for him to follow her, leads him through her bedroom, into her bathroom. She can practically sense the excitement radiating out of him, from getting to see such a private area of her life. He's probably itching to explore, to examine every inch of her room, but he stays close behind her, his arm hovering over her lower back as if he fears she's going to collapse any second. She finds that she doesn't mind.

She gets out the needed equipment from her cupboard to replace her dressing, and then sits on a wooden stool she keeps in her bathroom that she usually uses for clothes storage.

"Do you know what to do?" she asks as he sets himself up and washes his hands.

"Yep. Changed a few cuts and scrapes for Alexis in my time." He grins, and she's comforted by his confidence, his self-assured movements putting her at ease.

All of a sudden he's close, very close, and his hands skate over the gauze, looking for the best place to peel it off. His breath washes over her forehead and he rests his other hand lightly on the side of her head as he slowly peels off the dressing.

She's pretty sure her pulse has stopped. Or is it so fast she can't feel it anymore?

She closes her eyes, gives herself a minute to revel in his touch, his proximity. He's killing her, she's sure of it, but death by the touch of Richard Castle is probably not the worst way to go.

The pain brings her back as he peels the gauze over her cut, and she scrunches her brow, digs her nails of her non-plastered hand into her knee.

"Sorry," he says, and soothes her with his other hand, his fingers dusting circles on her scalp. It helps, and she focuses on that as he peels the last of the gauze off. It mustn't look good because he sucks in a breath, runs his fingers above the wound, as if he can heal it with his touch. He's probably not far off, she thinks, because she feels like she's floating, stuck in a limbo of pain and pleasure. His fingers leaving a trail of warmth as they soothe and relieve, and she could drift into his embrace and stay there forever.

He's still tracing her gash absentmindedly and it's getting too much - again - the air in the room is suffocating, and she clears her throat. It startles him, his hands dropping from her skin as if burned, and he moves over to the sink to wet a washcloth to clean the wound.

_God_, this was a bad idea. Any feelings of hurt and anger from the summer are gone, or at least overshadowed by this moment, the comfort from him washing away everything else. His actions feel more affectionate, more intimate than they should, every organ pulsing wildly when he's near. But she wants more, wants to feel him everywhere, to get lost in his hands, his fingers and never return.

_He has a girlfriend_, she reminds herself, breaking her trance, and swallows around the lump of disappointment in her throat.

He's back again, so close she could graze his thighs, his waist, if she just reached up. He looks nervous himself, his shoulders tense, strained to be so near to her. She closes her eyes as he begins to clean the cut. She shivers, goosebumps rising, and she pretends it's from the unexpected wetness of the cloth.

He continues his process, cleaning, disinfecting, and redressing, going too quickly and not quickly enough. She needs some space, it's getting hot, her body alive and thrumming, and she curses Castle in her head for making her feel this way.

He announces his completion, and she jumps up, forgetting that she is injured for a second. But her cast knocks against the counter and the force of the motion was too much for her head, her body and everything screams in pain, the bruises, breaks, and sprains fighting to make themselves known. Her knees give way, and she falls forward into his body as she gasps, almost whimpering from the pain her body is in. He catches her, his hands wrapping around her back, strong and safe, as she buries her head into his shoulder. Her left hand grips his shirt hard, hurting her wrist even more but she needs something to hold onto. She breathes through her teeth, letting out a groan, frustrated in herself and her body.

"Hey, shh, it's ok. You're ok, Kate," he soothes as he rubs his hand in circles around her back, the pain slowly melting from the motion.

She feels tears in the back of her eyes, which frustrates her even more, because she does _not _want to cry in front of him. She sniffs, and pulls out of his embrace, her body has calmed enough, and turns around to start cleaning up the medical supplies. She feels his hand on her back, and she quickly swipes under her eye to check that no tears have fallen.

"Kate-"

"Thank you, Castle," she cuts him off before it gets too serious and forces herself to smile. "I think I'm going to have a shower now. I still smell like hospital and my hair is gross," she jokes, trying to lighten the mood, yet giving him a reason to leave.

He nods, and she sees the disappointment seep into his features. He turns to exit but spins back when he gets to the door. "You can't shower with your cast."

She looks down at the plaster.

"Shit."

She didn't even think of that.

"Also, how are you going to wash your hair when you barely have a working hand."

"I- uh-" She sighs. "I guess I'll just wait until Lanie comes round tomorrow," she decides, gives up on the hope of feeling clean tonight.

"Or… I could- help?"

She flushes. "I'm not showering in front of you, Castle."

His eyes darken at that and she's pretty sure their minds went to the same place.

"No- uh- I mean- you could have a bath. And I could wash your hair?" He's so nervous, it's almost cute, but his solution doesn't really solve their problems.

"I still can't get my cast wet. And I'm still gonna be naked in the bath."

He coughs, chokes, and she suppresses a laugh. "Well," he squeaks out, "we can wrap your cast in Saran wrap, and keep it out of the water just in case, rest it on the edge with a towel. And you can just... wear your underwear? I promise I won't look Beckett."

She scoffs.

"Or I'll try my best," he teases, eyebrows raised, but turns serious as he speaks again. "I just want you to feel relaxed and clean, and that way you don't have to go to bed still smelling like hospital…"

She narrows her eyes. He's definitely not convincing her. Probably not. Maybe? But… she does want to be clean. And her hair is an oily, knotty mess. She sighs.

"Fine."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in this chapter, thank you for reading._

* * *

He had left her standing in her bedroom to get undressed while he went to grab the cling wrap. She had managed – with a high level of difficulty – to get her leggings off, but realized very quickly that she would need help for the t-shirt. Lanie had put it on her, so she hadn't given much thought to having to take it off. She had tried lifting it with her left hand, and found she wasn't able to complete the process without the cast getting in the way, or without her wrist twisting at an awkward angle and causing her serious pain.

She bounces on her toes, waiting for Castle to come back. She bites her lip at the thought of asking him to undress her. Definitely not how she imagined him seeing her in her underwear for the first time.

_Imagined?_

Yeah. Imagined.

He walks in, waving the roll of plastic, but halts when he sees her standing with no pants on. His eyes roam over her, his gaze stuttering over her legs, and her face heats, heart flutters and squeezes.

"Castle."

He darts his head up. "Sorry, uh- yes. Let's wrap this cast up."

"Um- I'm gonna need some help. In getting this t-shirt off," she mumbles, face flushing a deeper red.

She sees him exhale, as if trying to steady his breath, but he doesn't say anything, his face not leaving hers as he walks over, apparently not wanting to make her more uncomfortable.

He places the roll of plastic on the bed and then moves to stand in front of her. His fingers dance around the hem of her cotton t-shirt, and he lifts it up - slower than needed - grazing her skin on the way. She contracts, her muscles clenching, her teeth sinking deep into her lip. Her heart rattles her ribs, like it could break out of her chest cavity, and she doesn't even try to suppress how affected she is. She's staring at him, can't help it. His eyes are focused on the shirt, but he flicks his eyes to hers when he lifts it over her breasts and she takes a shuddering breath in. He gets one arm through, and then lifts it over her head before working it down the arm with the cast. His touch is careful, she can see he's not trying to hurt her any further.

He throws the shirt on to her bed, and she watches as his gaze flicks down her body. Instead of focusing on her chest like she expected, his eyes turn to worry, to guilt, as he takes in her torso, mottled with darkening bruises, her ribs shaded with deep purples and blues.

He skims his hand over them, so gentle she could cry, and she grabs his hand, pulls it away from her body and gives it a quick squeeze.

"Kate," he breathes, voice laced with remorse.

"I'm ok, Castle. It will heal."

"But-"

"Castle. I'm fine. Not your fault, remember?" She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand and he nods, swallows. "Ok. Now come on, and wrap my arm up."

* * *

Heaven.

That's where she has to be, because she has never felt this good in her life. His hands are in her hair, her head tilted back as he massages the shampoo through her wet locks. His fingers give the perfect pressure, and she can't help but let her mind wander into what else his fingers would excel at.

She's pretty sure she just let out a moan, because he's laughing at her, but she can't begin to care. Her legs are bent up, and her left arm is splayed across her stomach, unconsciously trying to shield him from her bruises. She's aware he has probably stolen glances of her body, would be surprised if he didn't, but instead of shame or anger, she finds she doesn't mind his gaze, enjoys that he still is attracted to her. Her body is so relaxed, languid, the warm water soothing her muscles that she barely has the energy to worry about anything other than the idea of him stopping.

He turns on the removable showerhead to rinse the shampoo from her hair, and God, that feels even more amazing. He runs his hand through her hair to squeeze out the water and shampoo. He swipes them over her neck, her ears, and she pinches the skin on her stomach to try and ground herself. He's careful to avoid her head wound, and her heart softens at his thoughtfulness. Sweet, caring, Castle.

He's been reasonably silent throughout, the tension is getting thick, and she feels like she should say something to break the silence but she has no idea what.

"How's Gina?"

_Yeah. Good job, Kate._

She feels him freeze, hand sliding down her hair as he works her conditioner through the ends.

"We broke up."

_Oh._

"I- I'm sorry, Castle."

Is she?

"Don't be. It was- a mistake getting back together in the first place."

She doesn't know what to say, her heart is beating with something that feels like hope, like happiness and anticipation. She calms herself, not sure if she should keep pressing the topic. So he's single. Okay, what does that mean for them?

If she went to the Hamptons with him, they would probably be together now. Is she ready for that? Is he ready? She doesn't want to be the rebound, even though she suspects that Gina was the rebound from her. Confusion flaps around her head, her mind weighing down further, already swamped with emotions from today.

He rinses out the conditioner and squeezes her hair to rid it of the excess water.

"I like your hair this length, Beckett," he says, his voice deep, so close to her ear that her stomach clenches. He runs his fingers down the strands a few times and she soaks up his touch, wants to consume it.

He stands up and she deflates at his absence.

"I- uh, I assume you want to wash- yourself, so I'll leave you to it," he stutters out, and turns towards the door.

"Castle?" He spins back.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

* * *

She quickly smoothes vanilla shower gel over herself, once Castle shuts the door, trying to cause herself as little pain as possible, and then rinses off and unplugs the bath. She is so, _so_, relaxed, content, but her brain is haywire with the new information about Castle's relationship status and she doesn't know what she wants to do.

She dries off, carefully patting herself down, and manages to pull down her underwear then attempts to reach around with her left hand to unhook her bra. She gets it off eventually, it hurts, but she the alternative is asking for Castle to do it, and they are definitely not there yet. She tugs on new underwear and a long sleep shirt that reaches mid thigh, her limbs awkward as they try to maneuver through the holes. Her left hand slowly works at each button until she is successfully dressed. She smiles for a second, proud of herself, soaking up any amount of independence she can have. Her broken arm throbs and her smile fades, the pain alerting her that it's time to take more of her meds. But they make her sleepy and she doesn't want to say goodbye to Castle just yet.

Walking out into the living room she finds Castle washing up, cleaning her kitchen, and the domesticity of it gives her a flash of what her future could be.

_Woah there, Kate._

She watches him work, studies his back, his broad shoulders, and she feels the increasingly persistent swirling in her stomach, the constricting of her heart as she imagines his body covering hers, rising above her as she's splayed on his sheets.

"Hey, Castle," she says, before her imagination goes too far.

He spins, smiles, and his eyes travel over her new outfit, the strands of hair curling around her face.

"Hey," he replies, eyes crinkling. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, my arm is throbbing though, so I think I'll take some meds and go to bed soon."

"Ah, of course, I'll grab them for you," he says, clicking his fingers as he searches for a glass.

"But- uh- not just yet," she stops him. He looks at her, waiting for her to tell him what she wants. She takes a deep breath. "Could- could you brush my hair?"

He stills, watches her for a second and then nods. He looks amazed, eyes bright with admiration at how much she's let him do, how much she's let him in. The fact that he is now single makes it even more serious and the slight panic that runs through her every time she has a thought like this is back, weaving through her excitement and leaving her thoroughly conflicted.

She quickly goes to grab her brush and comes back out to sit on the couch, facing sideways and crossing her legs onto the cushions. He walks over to sit behind her, close enough that if she wanted she could lean back into his chest. He takes the brush out of her hand, his fingers scraping hers as he does so.

He starts brushing, separating the strands with his hand and then expertly running it down with the brush. She can't decide what she prefers, him washing or brushing her hair. But she's reminded of her childhood right now, memories of her mom performing the same actions flashing in her mind, making her feel younger and safe. Her spine is alight, almost quivering, her brain feels fuzzy and content.

He finishes, places the brush down next to her, but before she can move he starts playing with her hair, running his fingers through it a few times then separating it into three strands and beginning a braid.

"You can braid?" she asks, surprised and yet… not.

"Alexis," is all he says, and she nods, expecting that answer.

His hands weave expertly through her hair, fingers occasionally brushing her neck, making her hairs stand on end. She passes him an elastic band that's wrapped around the brush and he secures the neat braid at the bottom.

She unravels her legs, turns around to face him, her shoulder leaning against the side of the couch. She wants to say thank you, for so much, but the words won't be enough. He's smiling at her again, the same one that has graced his face the entire night, gratitude and caring all wrapped up in the curl of his lips.

She swallows, flicks her eyes to his smile and does what she's wanted to do all evening, all summer. She presses her lips to his, wraps her less injured arm around his neck to pull him in closer. He's frozen at first, in shock she assumes, but she nips at his bottom lip and he comes alive, giving it back as he drinks from her. She moans, deepens the kiss and he sneaks his tongue out to graze across her lips. She opens for him, his tongue, his mouth, making her head spin, and she's in sensory overload when he runs his hand up her thigh. She lifts up, tries to push her body to move closer, to straddle him, but she pushes too hard, her arm, her ribs aching and she cries out, breaking the kiss as she sinks back down.

What is it about him that keeps making her forget she is injured?

"God, Kate, are you ok? I- I'm so sorry." He runs his hand over her forehead, her shoulders, trying to alleviate her pain.

"It's ok, Castle. Not your fault," she swallows.

She leans forward and rests her forehead on his, breathes in as she tries to calm her pain, her heart, her arousal. She brushes her lips to his briefly, soothing him and her, and she plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck as she leans against him.

"Kate. Is this… What is this?" he breathes, his hand still on her thigh, tracing patterns, and how is she supposed to talk when that is happening?

"It's- I want this, Castle. Have for a while now, " she murmurs, and his brow furrows.

"You have?"

"I have," she confirms. "But can we talk about that tomorrow? As much as I would like to continue this, I'm hurting, and I should sleep." She sweeps her thumb over his lip, heart clenching as he places a tiny kiss on her digit.

"Of course, Kate. I'll get your meds."

He stands up, sweeps his hand over her hair as he moves, and she decides to follows, not wanting to be apart from him.

She takes her meds, watches him, can't seem to take her eyes away, and she thinks he's the same. Adoration, happiness, is pouring out of his eyes – hers, too, she supposes.

She laces her fingers with his, once she's finished her water, and tugs him towards her bedroom, gently so as to not twist her wrist in the wrong direction.

"Kate?" he asks, confusion lacing his voice as he realizes where she's leading him back to.

"Stay with me?" she asks in explanation, once they've reached her room. She knows it's probably too soon, she's blaming the medication, the injuries, but she aches more with the thought of him leaving, doesn't want their night to end.

His eyes are wide, full of awe at her request, and she can't help but rise on her toes to smudge her lips across his once more. He holds her there, sipping from her, and she feels the familiar heat return deep in her core. This is definitely the most frustrated with her injuries she's been. They break apart, and she rests her head on his chest, her ear pressed against his heart. She snakes her good arm around his waist as her cast presses into his stomach. She holds him there, breathes him in, and feels him do the same.

"I'll stay."

* * *

_Curatio: Latin for 'healing'_


End file.
